


Canto XIV

by PaperAnn



Series: PaperAnn's Kink Bingo 2017 Works [22]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blasphemy, Bottoming from the Top, Consort Castiel, Dean Winchester Has a Wing Kink, King of Hell Dean, Knight of Hell Dean Winchester, M/M, Mark of Cain, Orgasm Denial, Porn with Feelings, Romantic Angst, Secret Relationship, Supernatural Kink Bingo 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 00:05:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12593584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperAnn/pseuds/PaperAnn
Summary: The King of Hell and Heaven have an agreement—to appease the King and keep him away from the Host, they’ll sacrifice one of their own.  What begins as a once-a-century bargain, turns to half-a-century, then eventually whittles down to every ten years.Castiel masks it as the King being greedy, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.  It’s the angel’s desire, needing to see him, that makes Castiel construct the lie.  Ignoring the angel and demon obstacle—if anyone knew how close they were, if they saw the beauty in this chaotic relationship?  It’s the purest act of blasphemy there is.





	Canto XIV

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SPN Kink Bingo 2017  
> Square Filled: Orgasm Denial
> 
> Here's another plotty-kink fic that I couldn't have done without my babe [GlitchedWings](https://idjitsaviors.tumblr.com/) here for me to beta! Yay!

****It began as a sacrifice every century.  Well, the word ‘sacrifice’ was a bit…misleading.  In all honesty, what began as a bargain to keep the peace between Heaven and Hell turned into something else completely, even though Heaven wasn’t aware of it.  Their bargaining chip was an angel named Castiel.

_He_ was the actual reason (one of many lies and deceits he would never tell the Host) these dealings had changed from a century down to a half century.  From a half down to every dozen _years_.  Now, it was every _decade_.   What was once peacekeeping had transformed into a secret between two men which appeared as a threat to the Host who wished to appease Hell—Castiel was keeping his lips closed tightly to keep it that way.

Earth.

It didn’t seem right, the King of Hell residing above the pits, on the very ground the humans walked.  During his few visits—Castiel didn’t understand it himself.

Castiel always kept the same vessel when he flew down to Earth, he made certain it remained it in peak condition through grace alone.  He had preserved it through the centuries because it was _insisted_ upon by the King.  If the angel was being honest, he’d come to accept it as some form of identity.

Every time he touched down, the first few steps were awkward against the pavement.  He’d need to take the time to see how the world had changed around him.  Castiel made sure he wasn’t sticking out like he sore thumb as he headed to his destination on foot.  More often than not, he’d change his clothes with the times, watch the scenery surrounding him, then concentrate on reaching out to pinpoint the familiar taste of fire.

And then he’d begin his true journey.

The King’s home hadn’t changed in the last hundred years.

It wasn’t anything extravagant, like a famed castle in France where he could easily gain a stronghold, or something darker that screamed ‘evil overlord.’  No, the location was an older Victorian mansion in the United States that had been abandoned forever.  

It was…gaudy.  

From the majestic wrought-iron gates to the chandeliers that Castiel remembered cobwebs clinging to from the last time he’d visited.

No, what was truly wicked and depraved was the vast acres upon acres of yard.  The King didn’t _want_ Hell, but Hell needed to appease _him_.  He allowed his demons free rein over the Underworld, but they brought their offerings.  The charred, blood-soaked souls of the damned they’d tortured.  These humans were not quite carved into demons, but they were twisted beyond recognition, screaming out for the nothingness of the end and strewn upon the mansion’s land.  

They were similar to how vengeful spirits would linger, trapped by insanity.  Except, these were screaming, demented and twisted shells of humans who were chained down to the soil.  All for the delight of their King.  And there were _mountains_ of them.

The smell alone was horrid, like blistered flesh, and the cries once they saw an angel?  They were deafening.  It was so damn hard not to wince at the agonizing screams—the way they all begged and shrieked at him.

Castiel kept his head down as he passed the display of poisoned offerings, his grace pulsing outward as a shield when the gate opened for him.

There were only two demons that worked for the King.  All others were beneath him, told to keep away except when delivering their tokens.  These two had seen Castiel enough to know his arrival from a mile away.    
  
They used to make snarky remarks with sneers behind their funneled black smoke.  It appeared the King had heard of it, and, oh—he was displeased.  The demons never made eye contact with Castiel again, let alone heckled him.  They were like beaten dogs, bowing, quaking and opening the doors.  Even fending off the shrill screeches of the dead for him.     
  
This… his entrance, the fact that _these two_ knew of his arrival and his exit—as well as the frequency—bothered Castiel.  The angel didn’t want any more information getting out about the visits, they’d already exhausted the majority of believable options, and two people with knowledge was two too many.

Although, Castiel knew damn well the King would vouch for these demons.  That they’d keep their mouths shut, because they weren’t mere underlings, they were loyalists and they were fearful.  Everyone was fearful.

Everyone _except_ Castiel.

No, he marched right up to the door and let himself him.

The echo of the empty house was a relief from the three dimensional, chaotic graveyard outside.  The only noise was the snore of a Hellhound next to the door.  Castiel huffed; the beast had grown so comfortable with his presence that it didn’t even shoot up to defend his master.  …Although it wasn’t as if his master needed defense.  It was for show, intimidation.  That was all.

There was always a red glow from candles that never burned out.  Wax dripped down the candlestick on the window ledges, and then many more were mounted along the curved railings to the route upstairs.  That was where Castiel was headed.

Every floor, every surface was either stone or wood, and at first glance it looked abandoned.  As though no one had even unlocked the three-story manor or set foot beyond the entrance since construction was finished.    
  
From the inside, time stood still.  Not simply because of those cobwebs on the chandeliers Castiel noticed were still proudly hanging on.  It was the smell of old books, the nip of cold in the air, the off-feeling that something just wasn’t right—that someone was watching you, following behind your back, but you could never turn to catch them quick enough.

Castiel’s gut was churning as he ascended the final spiral staircase, hearing the crackle of fire with his sharp senses lit above.  He could also hear a faint humming.

When he reached the top of the stairs, a morose part of his mind wondered how many had ’fallen’ from the top—after all, he could see the faint shade of burgundy in the shine of the tiles down below.  Castiel turned back to the hallway, the only light shining from the door at the very end.  It was a trek, and he passed at least a dozen doors before he found himself in front of one.  The most _familiar_ one.

This was where he always had to make the final move.  Because it was always Castiel’s choice.  The King, the very first time Heaven had given him up as their sacrifice, had surprised Castiel and told the angel he never wanted him here unless _he chose it._

The King didn’t want Castiel, unless Castiel wanted him.

That was why the time elapsed between their visits began decreasing.  Why Castiel had told the Host that the King of Hell was becoming ‘more greedy’ and demanding the angels ’give more’ or else he wouldn’t continue his good behavior.  Why Castiel was looked upon as a _savior_ , when all of it was a bold-faced lie.  It was all being done out of self-interest.

Because Castiel had fallen further than his brothers and sisters were capable of even imagining.

Castiel had fallen for the King of Hell.

He tried to tamper the anticipation in his gut and pushed open the door.

A familiar face was waiting for him with a wild grin, eyes flashing black and arms wrapping roughly around him.  Castiel was the one to haul them together in a rough, near-violent reunion kiss.  He pulled away, just enough to brush his nose along the demon’s neck and whisper, “Hello, Dean.”

There was a rumble in Dean’s chest as he took the angel in, nipping at his bottom lip before grabbing a handful of hair and tugging exactly how Castiel liked.  Dean’s touch was perfect, it always had been, even the first time—when he hadn’t yet known Dean’s story.  The moment he found out, everything… _clicked_.  It made so much more sense.

“Mm, I’ve missed you, angel.”  Dean’s voice was husky as he pulled Castiel by the back towards the extravagant four-post bed.  He gave Cas a once-over, commenting, “Gotta say, I’m loving the leather jacket and skinny jeans.”

“Oh, so you’ve been outside of your cave to see what’s going on in the world around you?” Castiel teased with a raised brow, tossing the jacket aside

Dean threw his head back with a laugh, “Wouldn’t _you_ like to know what I do outside my cave,” he pitched it suggestive and low.  “If you’d just stay here you’d never have to ask.”

“And begin a war between Heaven and Hell?” he chuckled and shook his head.  “Unlikely.  No matter how much I’d enjoy it.”

What Castiel truly enjoyed was their banter.  How easy it was to speak with Dean.  It came like a second nature, even when the first few time had been… a bit different.  Castiel: inexperienced, Dean: overeager—but now they were on an even playing field.  Most of the time, Castiel surprised him, gaining the upper hand because of all the time the angel had to fantasize about the next time he could see the demon.

It wasn’t until Dean felt trust, real genuine trust, that Castiel found out why.

Dean, unlike Lucifer or any of the Firsts turned, wasn’t always a demon.  He wasn’t even an angel or an old soul, tumbled and polished into the perfect King through the trials of Hell over time.  No.

This King of Hell had been _human_.  A human who’d taken on the Mark of Cain to _save people_.  Dean had died in a fight with the Mark on his arm; he’d been brave, loving and foolish to think he could handle the power.  But even in his death, when he awoke a demon he didn’t stop the assault there.

No, Dean, reborn a Knight of Hell _turned on Hell_.  If that wasn’t irony at its best, Castiel didn’t know what was.

One by one, Dean picked off the remaining Knights, having the advantage of wielding the deadly First Blade.  After that, he found out about Lilith and the Princes of Hell.  Dean was a demon who fought demons because he _loathed_ them and _himself_ to the point he wished for extermination of those in power.

Dean had single-handedly cut through, murdered, and slaughtered until he was on top of the food chain.  Until there was no stronger demon than _him_.  He’d even found an Archangel's Blade and killed Lucifer inside the Cage!  That was why Heaven felt forced to the make the deal: this new King was not only a huge name whispered in Hell, but with his capability of killing Archangels—no one was safe.

By default with no one else to claim the title, Dean was named King of Hell.

Dean didn’t want Hell—he hated it down there.  Every second he was hunting and taking down the Kings and the Princes one by one, all he could think about was going topside.  That’s why he stayed here, locking himself away on Earth.

Castiel was told one night that when Dean was human and dealing with the Mark, he wished he could’ve been flown and planted on the moon, so he didn’t hurt anyone.  Even though it was a serious conversation, that thought had made the angel smile and tell Dean that he wished he’d known him sooner—maybe he could have granted him that wish.

Dean said that once he died, the Mark demanded carnage, so he slit the throat of _anything_ that was a threat to humans, struggling to hold onto that side of him, but it also kept him in fighting shape to retain his title.  That massacre quelled the pull of the Mark for a while.  Killing demons still helped, as it made him feel more...human.     
  
Dean confessed that being with an angel makes him forget, the intoxication of grace like a drug.  But more than anything, it feels as though it washes away some of the blood on his hands.  Castiel made him feel like he wasn’t a killer, like he wasn’t a cold-blooded, worthless demon.

_That_ was when Castiel fell in love.

Even though he may have watched Dean go off the deep end from time to time from Heaven.  Castiel wasn’t ignorant, he knew that Dean killed humans—it was still a game to him—but he worked so hard to keep what humanity he had left.  And Castiel… felt like he helped.  Or he liked to pretend he did.

Because a mere, run-of-the-mill demon would fight or run from an angel, but this King was ripping Castiel’s clothes from his body.  And, dammit, if Castiel wasn’t running high on adrenaline from the sheer power behind Dean’s touch.

Castiel was used to being all-powerful.  Nothing could touch him when it came to strength, except Dean… Dean could _wreck_ him.  Something about that was so alluring, and Castiel knew that the thrill of it ran both ways.  With a flick of his wrist, Castiel caught Dean off guard and sent the demon flying backwards onto the bed.

Dean smirked gleefully—deciding to double down on the trick—and with snap of his fingers, the rest of the clothing on Cas’ frame _shredded_.  As through talons had ripped through the fabrics and a whirlwind savagely blew it away.  There was no salvaging the scraps of those.

Oh, the King looked haughty but Castiel knew exactly how to turn things around.  He narrowed his eyes, took a running leap and launched onto the bed.    
  
It was pure angelic strength and invisible grace that pinned Dean down as Castiel took his sweet time undressing him.  Castiel paused to watch the demon growl and stroked his own, naked cock.  He knew it would drive Dean _insane_.  It was only fair, since he’d gotten over-eager and Castiel was achingly hard.

It always felt like an eternity between times he was able to see Dean… he wanted to savor it.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean snarled out in frustration, “You know I could break through these in a flash, right?”

He leaned forward, a breath away from Dean’s lips as he whispered, “But you _won’t_.  You love it when I play with you.  And I love you—” he paused, ripping away Dean’s pants and leaving him in his boxers, “spreading out for me, just like this.”

“Oh, if only Heaven knew just how naughty you were.” Dean arched forward, trying to capture Castiel’s lips in a kiss.  “Then you wouldn’t have a choice.  You’d be mine forever.  Just how I want you.  Let me keep you, angel.”

There was a grin tugging at the edges of the Castiel’s mouth, but he _wouldn’t_ let it bloom.  Instead, his hand dove down Dean’s boxers and wrapped around his erection.  A surprised gasped was ripped from the demon’s lungs before he began to thrust up into it with enthusiasm.  He locked eyes with Castiel for a moment, a heated moment of yearning, that told the angel more than Dean had said in a damn long time.     
  
It was moments before Dean kept his promise and broke through the grace restraints.  He grappled upward to reach the angel.

Castiel was pulled flush against Dean’s body, their cocks lining up.  Dean’s boxers became an annoyance, the only thing separating them from being fully skin-on-skin, but Dean sinking his teeth and sucking Cas’ neck was not… That shot right down his spine, as though the demon wanted to mark every part of his body, and Castiel soon realized the teasing was over.

He wanted, no, needed, Dean too damn much to taunt him any longer.  Or himself, for that matter.  He was going to explode!

The boxers disappeared with a flurry of magic; they were grinding together, and in a compelling instant, Cas _had_ to kiss him.

Wrangling the unruly demon away from his neck was difficult, but the payoff, _oh God_ , the payoff was worth it.

In a word—Dean was passionate.

His phrases, his actions, who he was.  But the way he kissed?  Here was the most fantastic example of where that passion shone brightly.  Castiel counted himself lucky that he had been the chosen angel to come down here as a ‘sacrifice.’  Any of his brethren may consider this blasphemy but he… Castiel honestly felt that this was a blessing.

“Mm, but Dean—” Castiel broke the fevered moment just to tease, “I know you.  If you kept me, you’d tire of me so quickly,” and reached between them to fist both their cocks, just to hear the sounds the demon could make.  “And I want you to _crave me_.  Every time I walk through that door.”

Dean cursed under his breath, then licked into Cas’ mouth, moaning, “Y-you’re fuckin’ crazy.  To think I’d ever, _ever_ get sick of you.”

That was what Castiel loved to hear more than any dirty talk, more than anything else.  Phrases of want and need in knowing that his _absence_ was acknowledged and mourned.  Castiel preened in those moments, even though he wouldn’t let Dean know, as the demon rolled them around so he was on top, still kissing Castiel for all he was worth.

After swollen lips parted, Dean looked down on Castiel with his pupils blown wide enough, dark enough, that they were comparable to his demon’s stare.  He licked his lips and his hand rose, cupping Cas’ cheek and asking just shy of a whisper, “How do you want tonight to begin?”

Castiel tilted his head, countering, “Would you like me to tell you or show you?”

“Fuck,” Dean shook his head, precum pulsing from his cock at the mere idea, “Always keeping me on my toes.”

“Was that a show, then?”  The angel didn’t wait to surge upward and suck the skin along the hinge of Dean’s jaw in-between his teeth.  He wanted to watch him fall apart, he wanted to watch the demon come undone before him because he already knew he had a hold over Dean.

Playing hard to get had its benefits, even though Dean would always have Castiel in the end.  He’d always have Castiel, no matter what.

Except, this time, Dean caught Castiel off guard, grabbing both of Cas’ wrists and pinning them down at his sides.  It looked as though he’d caught on to Cas’ game and was now looming over him, out of reach.  Naturally, a frown appeared on the angel’s face, because he could neither touch, kiss, nor move his hips towards Dean.

The demon was loving every second of it.  But the mischievous expression didn’t quite match the words that fell from those delicious, plush lips.

“Stay here, _truly_ be mine.”  It was a demand in the back of his throat as Dean’s vision raked over every inch of naked skin below him.  “You don’t belong in Heaven—not anymore.  You can feel it, Cas!  You belong with me.”

Yes, Dean _had_ said these words to him before, but then it was in the throes of passion.  The demon had never stopped everything, demanded his complete attention and expected, what—?  An honest answer?  Castiel was truly baffled, especially when he struggled and Dean didn’t let up.  He tightened his grip.

“Dean,” Castiel began more calmly than he wanted to, because this was uncharted territories.  “I don’t know what Heaven would do if I simply… stayed.  I’d—”

“Then send a message!”  Dean snapped, like it would ease everyone’s concerns and they’d be worry-free.

“It doesn’t work like that!”  The angel tried again to fight against his confines, but he knew that Dean was endlessly more powerful than him, no matter how much he dimmed his strength when they played.  “They don’t know of our… closeness.  They’d assume you had captured me and ordered me to send that ‘message!’”

“Closeness,” Dean repeated with ire, rolling his eyes and snorting.  “Is that what you call it, Cas? _‘Closeness_?’  That’s a pretty word.  When you know damn well that—”

“Fine!  What do you wish me to say?!” he demanded right back.  “What would you call it?!  What do you feel?  What would the Host even believe?  What _I_ want to believe?!”

With a sharp stare, Dean examined him more intensely than he wanted because… he shouldn’t have said that, he _really_ shouldn’t have.  Of course, Dean was smart and he knew he had him cornered, so he was languid when he asked, “What do _you want_ to believe we are?  What this is?  Because whatever it is, it sure as fuck is better than your angelic sugarcoating.”

“Let me go.”

The order was cold as ice, biting Dean’s Hellfire, and surprisingly he released Castiel.

Except, when he released him and Castiel moved to his haunches, he used a burst of power to send Dean flailing onto his back.

While Dean had been expecting Cas to leave, having been pushed too far, he was dead wrong—Castiel moved smoothly to straddle him, grab Dean’s cock and sink down on him.

“Jesus, _fuck_!” Dean shouted as he bottomed out and ground their flush hips together, the angel’s nails sinking into his sides.  “Cas—”

“Shut up,” Castiel ordered immediately, raising himself up and dropping back down.  “I-I told you.  _Before_ you decided to be an entitled brat.  I’d show you and not tell you.”

Dean swallowed down his words hard enough for a visible bob in his throat, and he reached out, _wanting_ to grab Castiel but unsure if the angel wanted to be touched.  The biting grip of crescent marks into Dean’s flesh should have been a sign, but Dean sure wasn’t pushing it.  So Castiel took advantage, took it as a challenge to knock the stunned demon back into action.

The way he fucked himself onto Dean’s dick was unrelenting, and even though he wasn’t forming words, Dean’s moan certainly filled the room.  He was bucking upward into Cas, meeting his brutal pace with his own and the energy…Cas could _feel it_.

That was when he leaned down, grabbed a fistful of Dean’s hair and ordered, “You _won’t_ cum until I tell you.”

Dean’s eyes widened and flashed black instantly.  Castiel couldn’t care less if it was from offense or arousal, but he continued to rock as the demon held stock-still.

“Cas…” he warned, “I—”

Castiel ignored him, and lifted up, just enough to roughly grab the base of Dean’s cock and squeeze as he stared Dean down.  “You wish for me to stay, yet it doesn’t seem as though you’re giving me much say in the subject.  I feel that’s quite disrespectful, don’t you?”

“I didn’t—fuck!” Dean abruptly fumbled his words when Castiel began rocking, his tempo intensifying deliberately in trying to drive the demon mad.

That was also when the angel realized that he had no obligation to hold back.  Only Dean.  Because Castiel could feel the beginnings of pleasure running hot, feeding from Dean’s heat, feeding all through his body and he was close.  He followed it…

Castiel chased after his arousal, watching something akin to fear brew under him, his own vessel covered in sweat as he moved and grinned.  Yes, he was so close now.  The drag and the feel of being filled with Dean cock.  Of using and holding power over this demon, in a completely different way, right now.

“Don’t cum,” Castiel ordered, but instead of intense intimidation it was choked.  
  
Mostly because Cas was tumbling forward and catching himself on Dean’s chest.  He didn’t merely cover the demon in his release, but a white light exploded into the room, blinding from within the candle-lit darkness, as the euphoria washed over the angel.  It was strong enough to wash over this little corner of Hell on Earth.

“Goddammit!”

Dean’s words seemed appropriate, still hard and throbbing inside Cas’ used hole.  The angel grinned widely, smearing his cum all over Dean’s chest and stomach, praising, “You love it when we get off together, don’t you?  That must have been _torture_.”

Castiel began rocking again, making Dean whimper while he found his voice once more.

“I-I wasn’t being disrespectful, you ass.  I just want,” Dean gasped and thrashed, trying to hold back, “I just _want you_!”

Castiel watched him, so pathetic, so needy underneath him as he started his downward drops, hard and harder.  “Then tell me.”

“What, Cas?!” Dean spat, at the end of his rope, “I told you everything already!”

“What do _you_ believe we are?”  He turned the question on the demon, ruthlessly using him, constantly sending him to that ledge but reading the energy of Dean’s impending orgasm and pulling away right _before_ he could jump—

Dean was grinding his teeth, frustrated, black-eyed and strong.  He could shove Castiel across the room by raising one finger, he could end him with a weapon of his choice, but he was going through his torture, _letting_ it happen, until—

“I fucking love you, you asshole!” There was so much rage at the admission, like he was cursing his weakest link, it _had_ to be true.  The fact that a demon would even—

No, Castiel would ask him later.

“Cum, Dean,” he ducked down and kissed him hard.

At the same time, Dean’s arms grabbed Cas’ hips and he plowed his pelvis up into the angel, finally getting that permission he needed so badly, and all Castiel could feel was the fire.  His hands, his lips, the wash of release inside him—it made the angel gasp into Dean’s mouth and whisper words of praise.  Of how good Dean was for him, of how Cas was all his, of how he already belonged to him.

When Dean’s lips slowly left Cas’, his eyes were that vibrant green of his previous human soul and they wouldn’t unlock.  For a moment, the angel wasn’t sure what to do, where to go, because he was enchanted.  Absolutely lost in those beautiful eyes.

He pulled off Dean’s cock, knowing the night was still young and that there’d be plenty of time for more, and hauled them onto their sides.

Castiel was never one to shy away from a challenge, even though this was quite daunting.  Because he knew that Dean meant the words he’d been feeling, and that’s most likely why he had a difficult time expressing it.  Why Dean had resorted to abuse of control, force and demands.  That was all he knew.

So the angel had to make sure he knew… it was all right.

“That’s my idea of ‘closeness,’” Castiel voiced promptly, yet quietly.

It perked Dean up all the same, knowing he hadn’t done something wrong, that he hadn’t ruined everything.  That, most importantly, he wasn’t alone.  It was taking him a moment to regain his own footing, still flushed and panting, but he looked happy.

Eventually, Dean scoffed and scooted closer, grumbling, “You’re a dick.  Pushed me past my limits and forced it out of me.  But… I guess that’s okay.”  He reached out, a rough, calloused hand squeezing Castiel’s hip, “Since I woulda done the same to you.”

“What a pair we are.”  He let the demon gain back a bit of control through the show of force, through a physical act of domination.

After all, they both knew how easily the scales shifted and each move on the chessboard was given with permission.  It was odd, yet Castiel was content with their games, just as content as Dean.  Who was currently grazing his fingers over Castiel’s neck, tracing the marks he’d left in the rough seduction with a barely-hidden expression of victory.

“Will you let me...?” the demon asked with more hesitancy than normal.

The question made Castiel raise an eyebrow and ask, “So you can muss them up and ask do to it all over again?”

“Maybe.”  Dean cuffed him under the chin and left a lingering kiss on his lips.  “If you’d allow it,” he teased, regaining his reckless, cocky attitude.

Finally, Castiel acquiesced and sat up, concentrating carefully not to bring them into the corporeal plain, but the one in-between.  The space where he could open his wings for flight, where they drew long shadows, and they could be seen with the demon’s eye.  It was so intimate, and took a long time into their relationship before he had show them, but for some reason or another…he trusted Dean.

And if there was one thing the demon begged for, that he had a strange obsession with, it was preening Castiel’s wings.

He got comfortable with his legs crossed and Dean crawled up behind him.  But the first thing he did was mouth right above the juncture where Castiel’s wings jutted out from his back.  Cas hadn’t expected that at all, and it caused a shiver to ripple down his spine and his wings to flare out—nearly knocking over the candles by the window.

Dean chuckled to himself, and there was most definitely a glare that he couldn’t see on the angel’s face, but he moved expectedly after that.  He realigned the long feathers he, himself, had ruffled.  Straightening them out to perfection, one by one, in this gentle way that soothed Castiel into a trance-like state.

The demon’s careful touch almost felt human or (insanely enough) angelic, except for the exceptional heat of his hands, tender and cautious.  This was one of those times that showed Castiel just how different Dean was.  That amidst the terror, despite his bloodlust, there was still a human with a heart buried deep down there.

Any other creature from Hell would have grabbed a fistful of an angel’s wings and torn them apart.  They’d be over the moon to get their hands on a servant of Heaven and destroy their most prized and tightly guard piece of themselves.  Not Dean.

Maybe this was one of those times Dean had spoken of; something holy that made the darkness go away.  Castiel knew that wasn’t true, that it was all in the demon’s head because it was their _bond_ and the love that he felt, in his own way, that made Hell seem further away.  If Castiel could play a part in Dean’s imagination, make the Underworld feel like a bad dream?  He’d gladly do so.

Once Dean finished with the very last feathers, Castiel collapsed backwards, slumping against his chest, his head lolling into the crook Dean’s shoulder.  Dean hummed and wrapped his arms around the angel’s middle from behind, pulling him in closer and lingering there for a moment.

“They’re beautiful, Cas.”

“They’re nothing special.”  He instantly denied the compliment, his arms draping around Dean’s, looped around his waist.

He felt the tickles of laughter and stubble against his forehead when the demon said, “You couldn’t be more wrong.”  There was a beat of silence before he said, “Can I show you something?”

That caught Castiel’s interest.  Normally, during his visits, they barely left bed.  What on Earth could Dean possibly wish to show him?  This was the first thing, in a long time, that roused wariness.

“May I ask what it is?”  Castiel still hadn’t moved, as he was quite relaxed here.

But Dean began to get up, and with his entire support gone, Cas didn’t have a choice.

The demon was standing next to the bed with an outreached hand and the question of, “How often do you see your brothers and sister’s wings, Cas?” on his lips.

All right, now the suspicion had amplified.

“Hardly ever.  The only time we need them is for flight.”  He allowed himself to be pulled off the bed and led out of the room and down the hallway.

Dean led him through the hall and opened the door three doors down, and Castiel didn’t notice until he was beyond the threshold that it was warded to the gills.  Inside, there was an overflow of magic and power.  It was overcrowded, spilling to the brim with treasure.  That was, if you considered cursed objects to be treasure, an occult _arsenal_.   
  
But… Castiel _also_ felt a few items radiating with grace.  Not _merely_ angelic grace, but God’s power.  There was undoubtedly a coveted Hand of God in here, those were mostly rumors rather than facts, but the purity of the power—!

“What is this?”  Castiel’s eyes were darting around, too many things to examine but he recognized countless items that caught his attention.  His brain hurt from all the internal cataloging!

With a shark-like grin, Dean explained, “It’s a personal collection.  Things that the demons have found to keep me happy, things that I gathered as a hunter.  But _this_ is what I wished to show you.  Something that I found in Heaven’s Weaponry.”

It was a mirror on the far side of the wall and Castiel knew nothing good would come out of this which was why he froze in his tracks.

“ _You_ …found Heaven’s Weaponry?  How—”

Seeing how his lover had stopped, the demon turned around to face him with laughter.  “Don’t worry, I just snuck in.  Didn’t take much at all, only a few things that sparked my interest.  I’m sure warning bells would’ve been set off if it had been raided, Cas.”

Castiel took in a deep breath.  “Somehow that doesn’t make me feel much better.”

“C’mon,” Dean jerked his thumb.  “Aren’t you a little curious?  I’ll let you have a look around after.  Since I know damn well you’re itching to explore.”  He moved into Cas’ personal space and cupped his cheeks.  “I’ll even tell you which ones you aren’t supposed to play with.  How awesome am I?”

When he began to move again, Castiel finally pushed past his stupor.  Dean wouldn’t let up on this, he needed to get it over with, he needed to—

It was Dean that finally maneuvered him in front of the mirror.  It nearly took up the expanse of the wall, and although it was wide like a window, it cut off at his hips.  But Castiel couldn’t see what was so special about it.  All he could see was his reflection and Dean closing in, embracing him from behind.

“I don’t understand.”  Castiel said blandly.  “Did you wish for me to see the array of marks you left on my skin?”  He hid the nerves from his voice because the mirror was radiating energy, even though it seemed mundane.  This had to be a trick, this had to be some kind of ploy or—

Dean kissed his cheek, resting his chin in the crook of Castiel’s neck when he suggested, “I think you should bring your wings out again, angel.”

The request was odd, but then again it kicked up the dust surrounding the question of seeing his brothers and sister’s wings—now _that_ was echoing loudly in his mind.  Castiel couldn’t stall any longer, now that he was deathly curious from all this foreshadowing!  The fact that the demon’s words had all been leading up to this mirror, the time was now.  So when Castiel pulled his wings into the ethereal plane—

_Oh_ , God!   _No_ _—_

Castiel’s jaw dropped and terror clawed like a Hellhound dragging him into the pit, it tore through his body at the sight before him.   _No_!  This _couldn’t_ be real, this had to be a trick or—

“See, Cas?  I told you.  Beautiful.”

Castiel could feel his knees buckle at the sight, but the demon held him upright, watching him with midnight black eyes and—not a twisted smile—but one of barely-contained joy.  But this wasn’t right, this _couldn’t_ be happening!     
  
Except, this looking glass _wasn’t_ a cursed object.  It wasn’t a weapon, this was a mirror forged in Heaven.  A Mirror of Sight.  _True Sight_.

Castiel’s wings, that used to be as white as snow, like all the angels, were _burnt_.  Yet, they were not singed away, they were soiled and _stained_ with charcoal.  It was an array of blackness, some as dark as ebony, other in hues of grey—but it was clear they didn’t belong to a raven or an avenging angel.  

They’d been tainted.  It was that simple.  The King of Hell’s touch… his hold on them had corrupted and blemished them with his fire.

“ _You_ did this,” Castiel barked out and tried to struggle, but Dean held him closer, “You’ve ruined—!”

“Nuh-uh-uh!” Dean’s covered Cas’ mouth with his hand, his eyes never breaking contact with him in the mirror.  “Your wings have always been protected by your grace. _I_ didn’t do this, you let me in.  You dropped the barrier, you gave yourself to me.  That’s one of the millions of reasons I want you here with me.  My very own gorgeous, fallen, defiled angel.”

Castiel stopped struggling, because… he knew it to be true.  He _could have_ prevented this.  Even when he allowed Dean’s touch, he _could have_ kept this from happening.  Whether he knew what he was doing or not, Dean was a demon, he’d take any chance he could for his own, selfish gain and Castiel… let him.  He’d allowed it at every turn and, what’s worse, he’d enjoyed it.

He’d been a fool.

Castiel couldn’t look at them.  He let his wings dissolved from the mirror, knowing there was no salvaging this.  Castiel had been the one to visit more often, to lie to the Host, to fall for the King of Hell.  How could he ever except to get away with it without repercussions?

“Can you imagine what could happen if your brethren saw what _we’ve_ done?”  Dean deliberately pronounced the ‘we’ because it resonated and it was true.  “What would they think?  Letting a demon see your wings?  Touch them?  Knowing how you loved every second of it?  Oh—the blasphemy!  Shit, they may know already.”  He dropped his make-shift gag over Castiel’s mouth.  “Walking around Heaven is dangerous, Cas.  I can protect you.  What’s more, I want to.”

Castiel roughly cleared his throat, addressing Dean’s reflection as he asked, “When?”

Dean raised an eyebrow, mulling over the question until he figured, “When did it begin?  Or when did it go this far?”  He traced his tongue along the shell of Cas’ ear and whispered, this time with more sympathy, “Hundreds of years ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner.”  Castiel ground his teeth, steel in his voice because now that he couldn’t deny the blame, he was giving into anger, into the fury he had for himself.

That caught the demon off guard.  He turned Castiel around, sick of staring at him through the damn mirror, until they were face to face.  There was a vulnerability to Dean, he wasn’t fighting back against the angel's rage, he was… trying to appease him.  His touch was tentative, running a hand through Cas’ hair and daring to lean in for a kiss, which was met with unyielding lips.

With a groan, Dean explained, “I never had the guts, or something.  I never thought you’d even consider staying.  Maybe I thought… this time, you would.”

“Yet you allowed me to gallivant around Heaven like _this_.  Where I could have risked execution.  Where I could have been imprisoned, and _never_ allowed back to Earth?”  He challenged with snarl, “You never thought to inform me, all the while my wings became darker and darker, all the while I cared about _you_ more and more!”

“This was supposed to be proof!”  It looked like Dean’s composure hadn’t lasted long, accusations made him break, fast.  “I wanted to show you as fuckin’ proof you’re meant to be with me!  What more do you need?!  What more can I do?!  I already told you I loved you, which shouldn’t even be fucking possible, Cas!  Get off your high horse and—”

Castiel roughly shoved past him and stalked out of the room.

He didn’t stop with the room.

The angel used a brief burst of gracely power to manifest his clothing back into existence, back into one piece, and headed to the spiral staircase.  It appeared Castiel had completely baffled the demon, because the first thing he heard was the shouted, “Where are you going?!” before there were even footsteps.  Castiel was already at the bottom of the stairs before Dean was on the balcony, bent in half and looking down.

This time, the Hound was awake, but whining because he actually liked Castiel but wasn’t happy about his owners distress.  Luckily, it didn’t matter.

“Cas,” Dean was desperately watching him, pleading, “Don’t go.  I’m sorry, just come back.  I _can’t_ _—_ ” He had pulled on some jeans and planted his foot on the railing, taking the short cut down by jumping from the top floor.  Dean landed with an echoing crash and made a beeline towards the angel, but Castiel was already moving to the door.  “I can’t do this without you!”

“Don’t!”  Castiel put a hand out, glowing a blinding white-blue, the same unearthly, divine color that was boiling behind his gaze.

The demon staggered backward, hurt reading clearly across his face because never, _ever_ over the centuries had anything like this happened.  They had never threatened each other, they’d never needed to.  Dean had never witnessed Castiel’s grace in the form of a warning, it had only come into play in the bedroom, and this couldn’t be further than that context.  But… Castiel couldn’t have Dean following him right now.  It was imperative.

Still, Cas  _hated_ this.  He never thought it was possible for a demon to look heartbroken.  Let alone the King of Hell.

So he had to turn to the door, to get out of there as quickly as possible, knowing that Dean wouldn’t lift a finger to anger him more.  If Dean thought they still had a chance, he would give them space.  Castiel knew that despite everything, despite all the tragedy and pain that had played out in the demon’s long life, he _still_ clung onto a modicum of hope—because Castiel had given him that.

If he wouldn’t continue to hang onto his grasp on humanity for the very angel who’d made it bloom?  What was the point?

Castiel moved fast and with purpose, and when he sent out feelers it was just as he assumed.  Dean hadn’t left the mansion.  But Cas knew he had to be quick, because once shock melted into fury, there could very well be a massacre and a rampage in the making.  The angel had something to do.

It took him a mile or two on foot until he truly felt alone.  It was the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, but the screaming souls from the property were still resonating in his ears long after he’d passed the estate.  He needed a clear head, pure and simple.  If he didn’t, this would never work.

He _needed_ it to work.

\--------------------------

Castiel couldn’t have predicted the defeat, the empty shell that was leaning against the landing of the spiral staircase when he _flew_ in for the very first time, foregoing the walk.  At first, he was terrified that Dean had left his vessel, that he was onto bigger and better things to quell his aching heart, that he’d broken.

When the black eyes flashed in shock at the fact Castiel was back, standing directly in front of him, Dean didn’t speak right away.  He got to his feet slowly and stared, perhaps posturing with the ebony glare, well aware the angel missed his green eyes and was acting out any way he could.

It wasn’t an intended stare-down, but Castiel knew damn well that his actions would have prompted something like this.  He was actually on thin ice because he’d been gone for hours and who knows what sort of punishment Dean had been cooking up for him inside that tormented mind in the meantime.

Fortunately, the demon was the first to break the silence.

“Why did you come back?”  It was full of disdain when he said, “Maybe you should have stayed gone.”  Dean advanced on him, a crimson glow pulsing from his form.  “Maybe I’ll make sure you’re gone for good.”

Castiel didn’t shrink away, even when he got a taste of the whipping energy, taking his own vessel’s breath away.  He had dealt with Dean in a mood before, and although this _wasn’t_ one of his normal fits, if he could just imagine handling that—amplified—he would be able to make it out.

“That… would be unfortunate.”  Castiel said as monotone as he could manage, “If I have already lost my place _here_ , I’d have nowhere to go.”

Dean jerked back, viscerally affected as he realized the weight of the words.  Everything changing in a split-second.  His jaw dropped, his brow furrowed and he lost his fire—fizzling out right in front of the angel.  He hadn’t moved out of Castiel’s space though, and his body language slowly shifted now that the news sunk in.

Sluggishly, little by little, his arm rose to touch Castiel’s face, almost to see if he were real.  He asked in disbelief, “What did you do, angel?”

“I prayed.”  Cas sighed heavily.  “For forgiveness.  For strength.  For my Father’s understanding, since I know I won’t get it from my brothers and sisters.  I sent a message.”

Dean blinked with wide eyes, trying to put together the right words.  “That… you were staying on Earth?”

“That I had given myself to you.”  Castiel wasn’t mincing words.  “And it was due to my own actions.  My own choice.  That you don’t need anything from Heaven, and I don’t want any kind of rescue party.  I’m… happy here.”

“You’re joking.”

“I assure you, I’m not,” there was a waver in his voice, because Dean’s reaction… it wasn’t what Castiel was hoping for.

This shy hesitance?  The disbelief and muted concern?  The angel was hoping for joy.  Castiel was praying for relief, for happiness—not a huge celebration or something, but _more…_  Now, he was afraid he’d done the wrong thing, and he truly didn’t have a home anywhere.

Just as his insecurities were about to sweep him up, Dean’s excitement finally boiled over and he wrapped the angel in his arms, spinning him around.  There was a rumbling in his chest as he chuckled and set Castiel down, grabbing his face and kissing him with that rough intensity the angel was addicted to.

“Finally,” Dean gasped into his mouth, tugging on the jacket and hauling him closer.  “You have no idea… how long I’ve wanted this.  How I’ve clung to this fantasy.  Of you belonging to me, never leaving my side.”

“No turning back, Dean,” he reminded.  “You’ve got your wish.”

“I know you’ve wanted it just as bad.”  He was confident, perhaps over-confident, but that leaked out and fueled Castiel’s self-esteem, proving to him that this was right.

Well, that was a lie.  Everything about this was wrong, it was immoral, it went against everything about how an angel should be, should act, should feel.

Maybe he’d been flawed from the start.  Except, when Dean smiled and lured him back towards the bedroom, Castiel was positive it was the other way around.

Dean may have been the King of Hell, but the demon Castiel had come to know wasn’t merely the ruthless, wicked and malicious threat to humanity that everyone saw him as.

He was _so_ much more.  Both of them, angel and demon alike, were on a different spectrum on their breed’s scales—and they balanced one another out.  They found love in the middle, and now there was no one standing in the way of them being together.

The angel with charred wings and the demon capable of love—Castiel had said it before: what a pair they were.


End file.
